


John Wick Cleans the Safe House

by Disaster_Lady



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games), Payday: The Heist
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Gen, His dog is in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5565280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disaster_Lady/pseuds/Disaster_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Wick is an organized, methodical man, which is why he can't stand how dirty the Payday Gang's safe house is. He's back, and John takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Wick Cleans the Safe House

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to my sister for inspiring this.

It was not to say that John Wick was unused to filth. He had survived basic training with all the muck and mire that went along with it. But the Payday Gang had certainly let the safe house go.

If he was going to work with them, he needed to be able to tolerate being in the safe house. Dallas had given him a tour of the place once he got to D.C. The man flopped down on a sofa that John believed was older than he was.  What was the point of robbing banks if you couldn’t buy decent furniture. Being married to Helen had made him appreciate a good love-seat and sectional set.

During the first trip, he had brought his dog along. Rosie was neat and well trained. John had quickly taught her not to piddle on the floor and he always made sure to give her a bath when she got dirty. The pit was cleaner than the floor. Rosie had enjoyed all the new smells in the building, but her eagerness to explore only made John more disgusted. 

The kitchen was the worst. Pots and pans covered with crusted grease still sat unwashed on the stove. John could not believe that anyone would do that, then again, there was no soap to do dishes.

The last straw was the bathroom. Perhaps they had gotten used to the smell, but John fought his gag reflex as he opened the door. Weeks, or likely, months, of toothpaste splats covered the sink like layers of sedimentary rocks. He left the contents of the shower up to his imagination. 

The gang had gone out on some job and would be gone for the rest of the weekend, giving John plenty of time to think. The sofa creaked under his weight as he sat down. Rosie nuzzled his hand. 

“If I’m gonna be back,” he said to his dog. “I wanna be back in style.”

A trip to Wal-Mart was in order. 

The greeter was annoyed that he brought an animal inside, but John fibbed and said that Rosie was a therapy dog and kept walking. He came up with a mental list as he drove to the store. His cart soon filled with sponges and towels, a swifter, every cleaning supply that Billy Mays ever pitched, white paint, brushes, sofa covers, two pairs of rubber gloves, several surgical masks, and an apron.

Back in the safe house, John placed his supplies on the kitchen counter, wondering where to begin. He turned up the volume on the radio and tightened the straps of his apron. 

John first swiffered the floor, Rosie keeping out of his way. He was grateful that he purchased extra rags, as they were blackened after a few runs. As he tidied up the kitchen, John was tempted to throw out the pans and go buy new ones. But Chains, Dallas and the rest had fucked them up, and he was not going to put more effort into this than he had too. He left them to soak, while he cleaned the rest of the furniture.

It would have been impossible for him to go and buy new sofas. John could do many extraordinary things, but moving heavy furniture by himself was not one of them. He found an ancient, yet functional vacuum in the laundry mat, and started going over the sofas. The covers added a touch of color to the safe house, and John would remind the others to keep them clean in the future. 

The pans clean and back in the proper place, that being the cupboard, John got out the paint. A quick layer would make the place less depressing and more bright. White always made a room look cleaner, and would make it more obvious when it was dirty.

As the paint dried, John prepared himself for the part he feared most: the bathroom. 

He rolled up his sleeves, yanked the rubber gloves as far down as he could, and made sure the surgical mask wouldn’t slide off.  Rosie tried to follow him inside.

“No Rosie, stay. This place is not fit for human or canine life.”

Again he swiffered the floor, before pouring bleach in the sink. The one thing that he felt not guilty about throwing out was the crusty, stift hand towel that John had trouble determining what its original color was. 

In retrospect, he probably should have bought a new shower curtain. Mildew dotted the bottom. Sighing deeply, John pushed it to the side. To his surprise, the inside of the shower was not as bad as he feared.

Until he looked at the drain that is. 

A giant hair ball covered the drain. John guessed that one person must have forgotten to clean it once and then the next person didn’t want to either. He gritted his teeth and reached in. It took him a few tries to get a grip on the slippery mass. The thing was larger than he expected when he ripped it from the shower. Without looking, John threw it in the trash.

“How can they live like this,” he said to himself.

At long last, the safe house was at a level of cleanliness that he was comfortable with.  The smell of drying paint and cleaner was giving John a headache. He locked the door behind him and he and Rosie spent the night in a motel.   
  


 

Dallas had not given him an exact time that they would be back, and John used the extra hours remaining to do a little grocery shopping. During his big clean he had found an empty jar of peanut butter and ramen from 2010. Rosie sitting in the cart, John got cans of soup, paper plates and plastic forks. If they forgot to do dishes, he would make it easier for them.

His groceries put away, John decided he and Rosie deserved a break. He relaxed on the now clean and lovely sofa. Rosie hopped up and cuddled between his legs.

“What the hell happened in here?”

John must have drifted off to sleep, he awoke to Dallas, his little brother (he had trouble seeing him as “Hoxton,” considering his memories of the original), Chains, and Wolf all staring at him in shock.

He shooed Rosie off the sofa and stood.

“I tidied the place up.”

“I smell paint,” said Wolf suspiciously. 

“Wow John,” said Chains, “the kitchen looks amazing.”

“What happened to the sofas?” said “Hoxton.”

“Wick, you didn’t have to do this,” said Dallas.

“I sure as hell didn’t. Gentlemen, this place was a complete pigsty, so I made a few adjustments.”

“Uh, thanks.” Dallas was sticking his head in the bathroom.

“Yeah, and I’m not gonna do it again.” John pulled himself up to his full height, feeling his most intimidating. “So you all better keep this place neat when I’m not here,” he said, putting emphasis on the word  _ neat. _

“Or else what,” said “Hoxton.”

John put his sunglasses on. “Rosie needs to go for a walk.”

**Author's Note:**

> My personal head canon is that John's dog at the end is a girl and her name is Rosie, in keeping with the flower theme. I'll keep thinking that until the sequel.


End file.
